


Smoke and Mirrors

by bayaningbituon



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eliot needs help from his friends goddamit, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, What happened after Eliot killed Mike
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9692573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayaningbituon/pseuds/bayaningbituon
Summary: Friends have a way of seeing through the bullshit masks you put on.





	

**Author's Note:**

> These are missing scenes of the immediate aftermath of Mike's death.

When Quentin finally made it back to the Physical Kids' Cottage after talking to Dean Fogg about Eliza, it was already dusk. Quentin entered the cottage and noted the unusually somber mood in the main living room. There were bottles of alcohol everywhere, as usual, but there was a heavy feeling in the air. People weren't playing loud music or playing games or doing drunk feats of magic. It was still, and people were just whispering or talking lowly to each other. One girl walked past him to leave the cottage, and he stopped her on her way out. "Hey, um, did you see Eliot come through here?"

The girl nodded slowly. "Yeah, he went up to his room. Told everyone not to disturb him though."

Quentin replied grimly, "Well, I'm not everyone," and let go of her arm to rush upstairs. His mind was cycling through what to say to Eliot.  _Are you okay_  or _I'm sorry you had to kill your boyfriend?_ Everything sounded inadequate to what Eliot had just had to do, what Eliot had to be feeling right now.

When he got to Eliot's door, Quentin took a deep, fortifying breath, before opening it. Eliot was sitting on his bed, back facing the door, and when the door opened, Quentin saw him wipe at his face before turning around. Quentin saw Eliot's reddened, irritated, eyes and the remnants of tear tracks on his face and felt his heart tug. He had never seen Eliot so vulnerable before, and it was like watching the world turn differently.

"Hey, Q," Eliot greeted with a hoarse voice, brittle smile on his face. "You're just in time. I was thinking of mixing up some cocktails." He stood up and walked around the bed, picked up a tall bottle from his dresser, bright green, and considered it before muttering, "This is hideous warm. Need to get some ice."

Quentin walked forward hesitantly, setting down his bag, and asked, "Hey, El, you okay?"

Eliot widened his fragile smile and replied, "Of course. Why wouldn't I be? Although, everything's always better with alcohol." When he start poring over the different bottles on his nightstand, Quentin found himself unable to stand the the sheer veneer of bravado that Eliot was putting on. He strode forward, pulled the bottle out of Eliot's hands and put it on the nightstand, and pulled Eliot into a hug.

Eliot tensed at the contact, but still tried to cling to his mask of nonchalance. "Hey, Q, if you just wanted to get down and dirty, you could've just said--"

"Stop," Quentin muttered into Eliot's shoulder. "Stop pretending, El. It's just me. You can let go. Just...just let go, okay? I'm here. I'm here." He rubbed one hand up and down Eliot's tense back comfortingly, while the other grasped the back of Eliot's head gently.

Slowly, Eliot's arms came up to embrace Quentin back, and his whole frame started trembling. At the sensation of hot tears seeping through his shirt, Quentin corralled Eliot until the two of them were sitting on the bed against the headboard. Eliot's arms were wrapped around Quentin's middle, and he was still crying silently as Quentin rubbed his back soothingly.

Neither of them said a word for a long moment. In the silence, Quentin thought about what he should say, scrambled for some sort of sympathetic babble, but he was still as tongue-tied as when he first entered the room. He could hardly find words about his own feelings most of the time, so it didn't surprise him that he couldn't find words to help Eliot, though it did gall him.

In the end, Eliot broke the silence with hitched breath. "I thought," he said weakly, "I thought I finally found something worth caring about." He paused for a moment, then continued bitterly, "I should've known it was too good to be true."

"Hey, no," Quentin replied in a hushed voice, and suddenly the words flowed through him as if he knew exactly what to say. "Eliot, there's still...there's still good in this world. And you deserve good things in this world, and I know...I know that you'll find something worth caring about one day. And until then, I'm here, and Margo, and even Alice. You're worth caring about. And I am so, so so sorry that you experienced all of this shit, and that you had to, you know..."

"Kill Mike?" Eliot asked wryly.

"Save Dean Fogg, and Penny and me," he rebutted firmly. "And at the expense of your--your happiness and your mental and emotional well-being. And I wish," and at this, Quentin closed his teary eyes in desperation, "I wish I could take the pain away, but I can't. All I can do is be here for you, and I hope it's enough."

The silence afterwards seemed to stretch on, but the two men on the bed didn't need anymore words. Quentin continued to stroke Eliot's back, and slowly Eliot's trembling eased. He squeezed Quentin's middle, and he muttered lowly, "Hey, Q?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Quentin smiled faintly at the top of Eliot's head, and he replied, "No problem, El." He kissed the top of Eliot's head, and they passed the rest of the night in a peaceful, warm embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter two will be Penny, three will be Alice and and four will be Margo. I have rough outlines for the rest of the chapters but nothing concrete written yet. Stay with me! I'm a slow writer!


End file.
